


Chasing Thursdays

by nowforruin



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Two Shot, ice cream shop owner emma, snarky elsa, tattoo artist killian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 17:00:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7276375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowforruin/pseuds/nowforruin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elsa has no desire to follow in her politician mother’s footsteps and Emma wants to quit working at Granny’s. They decide to open Frozen and take advantage of the summer tourist season, but Emma doesn’t count on their neighbor, tattoo artist Killian Jones, showing up every single Thursday for more than just ice cream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It started with Elsa.

 

The very first day they looked at the space, a cheerful _For Lease_ sign in the window, they had barely gotten out of the car before Elsa was grinning. Her friend pointed across the street with an arched brow. “We’d have great company,” she said with a sly smile, nodding at the sign stretched across the opposite building.

 

When Emma only stared at her mutely, Elsa shook her head, blonde braid tumbling over her shoulder. “Really? I couldn’t get Anna to shut up about it for almost three weeks after they ran that piece in the paper.”

 

“You know I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Emma glanced back over her leather-clad shoulder, eyes tracing the delicate swoop of the lettering. _Second Star to the Right_ appeared to be a tattoo shop – the swirling paint on the front glass even proclaimed it to be so.

 

“The guy who owns it was on one of those tattoo shows. I have it on good authority he’s rather attractive.” Elsa waggled her brows, laughing at Emma’s eye roll. “C’mon, I know you don’t watch a lot of TV, but _everyone_ was talking about him a few months ago.”

 

“I don’t know that I’d ever put your sister and _authority_ in the same sentence. And isn’t she engaged?” she asked, ignoring the jab. Emma didn’t have a whole lot of time for TV – what little free time she _did_ have she preferred to spend reading down by the ocean or stretched out in the park. Or hiking. Or really anything that didn’t involve someone else’s screwed up version of “reality” broadcast for the masses.

 

“Yep.” Elsa smiled ruefully, folding her arms and leaning back against the glass of the retail space they were hoping to call their own, if the realtor ever showed up. “But that doesn’t seem to stop her from gushing.”

 

Emma rolled her eyes again, thankful when she spotted the black Mercedes barreling down the road straight toward them. “Well, let’s not base our decision on your sister’s opinion of the neighbors. Your decision, I mean.”

 

“ _Our_ decision.” Elsa laughed, slinging her arm around Emma’s shoulders. “You’re stuck with me now. No going back.”

 

“I still think it should be just your name on the lease. You can pay me like any other employee.”

 

“No way. This was your idea. I’d never have convinced my mom without you. You pretty much saved my life.”

 

“Has anyone ever told you you’re really dramatic?”

 

“Runs in the blood!” Elsa’s grin widened, and she squeezed Emma’s shoulder before letting her go. “C’mon, could you really see me in politics?”

 

“Yes,” Emma answered without thinking. Elsa’s family was powerful, and she had been groomed from an early age to take over the legacy. She had the political science degree to prove it – but she’d never wanted to rule. She’d wanted to be her own person, and she credited Emma with being the one to give her the confidence to do just that. So when she’d successfully convinced her parents she wanted to go into business for herself, they’d happily handed over a chunk of change to get their daughter started. They were convinced it was a stepping stone to a political career, that a young, independent business owner was an excellent foundation for a future senator.

 

Elsa hadn’t bothered to burst their bubble.

 

Thankfully, the realtor rushed up then, stopping Emma from having to awkwardly explain herself. The topic was dropped as the two women focused on evaluating their potential storefront, poking into dusty corners and murmuring to each other about where they could set up their wares.

 

They took it.

 

A month later, they opened the doors of _Frozen_ to the small, seaside tourist trap of Storybrooke, Maine. To think, the whole thing had started with Emma whining about there not being a decent place to get ice cream in the tiny town, despite its heavy summer crowd. Elsa had jokingly said they should just open their own shop, and it would have died there, but over the winter, the idea had grown a life of its own. With the summer tourist crowd that inevitably descended on Storybrooke’s handful of bed and breakfasts, there was a market for it.

 

“Besides, do you really want to spend another summer waiting on tourists at Granny’s?” Elsa had asked with a smile, pushing her oh-so-official, neatly typed business plan at Emma. “Why not wait on them at _our_ shop?”

 

“Glad to see that double major in business your mom made you get is good for something other than her bragging rights,” she’d commented, sipping her coffee and staring at the paper in front of her. She had a college degree of her own, not that she had thought far enough ahead to major in anything useful, and a looming mountain of debt to go with it.

 

And no, she didn’t want to work for Granny forever, either.

 

Elsa had shrugged, starting to pull the plans back. “Well, if you’re not interested, I guess I could…”

 

Emma snatched the paper back before Elsa managed to remove it. “I didn’t say I wasn’t interested.”

 

It hadn’t taken long from there for it to all come together. Amazing how that worked with Elsa’s family’s money, but Emma hadn’t been able to find it in herself to be bitter when it presented her with a solution to her own problems. So what if neither of them knew a thing about how to make ice cream? They’d figure it out. Elsa had the kind of personality that made people want to buy a bridge, and Emma, well, she had a stubborn streak that wouldn’t let them fail.

 

Not to mention those pesky student loans.

 

And by some combination of miracles and sheer determination, it worked.

 

Anna had been right about their neighbor – Killian Jones _was_ rather attractive. Emma found out first hand when he came by to introduce himself, all tanned skin and crisp accent. He appeared in a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, simple clothes, but the jeans clung to his thighs and the shirt highlighted toned biceps, delicate lines of ink curling around them. Topped off with sparkling blue eyes and messy dark hair just long enough to want to run her fingers through, he was a little _too_ easy to look at.

 

“Nice to have a bit of something sweet across the street,” he said after offering his name and obtaining theirs, glancing around the bright shop before landing on Emma behind the counter. Elsa stood beside her, but for some reason, his eyes dropped to Emma’s lips and stayed there as he added, “Very nice, indeed.”

 

“Um, thanks?” Emma lifted an eyebrow as he continued staring, and when he finally lifted his eyes to hers, the tips of his ears turned a shade of pink she absolutely did not find adorable.

 

“Should you ladies ever require any assistance, please feel free to ring. Always happy to assist a lass in need.” Whatever embarrassment he may have felt at being caught staring evaporated quickly, his grin filled with delight and his words dripping with innuendo, all in a lilting accent Emma was _not_ charmed by in the slightest. “In the meanwhile, what would you recommend to your devilishly handsome new neighbor?” He ran his tongue suggestively over his bottom lip, winking at Emma.

 

“Does that actually work on women?” she asked, dodging Elsa’s elbow and smiling sweetly. She didn’t give a shit how good he looked with his arms folded across his chest, ink draped over his tanned skin – he _knew_ he was good looking, and where she didn’t mind confidence, arrogance was another story.

 

“Emma just made up a batch of Rocky Road,” Elsa cut in before he could snark back at her, and a part of her was almost disappointed at being deprived the verbal sparring match. She so rarely came up against a worthy opponent. “It’s her favorite,” her supposed friend tacked on, offering up her own smug grin when Emma narrowed her eyes.

 

He left with a double scoop and another lingering stare.

 

“He likes you,” Elsa all but sang, watching Killian walk out the door.

 

“He’s just supporting another local business. And I suspect, in his mind, being nice.” Emma rolled her eyes, refusing to watch the way the wind ruffled his hair. “A man that looks like that flirts with everything that walks.”

 

Emma didn’t have time for flirting. She needed her business to succeed too badly. Someone still had to pay her portion of the rent along with all her other bills.

 

“Funny, I was standing right next to you, but he didn’t stare at me like he was imagining me naked.”

 

“He was _not_ imagining me naked.” Emma paused, flushing to the roots of her hair. “And even if he was, that’s kind of gross,” she tacked on, summoning up what she hoped was an appropriate level of indignation.

 

“Not if you were picturing _him_ naked.” Elsa narrowly dodged the plastic spoon Emma flung at her, her neat braid swinging over her shoulder as she laughed. “Oh, you _were_!”

 

-x-

 

Killian didn’t turn up again until a week later, and Emma cursed when she saw him sauntering across the road. She was alone in the shop, Elsa off with her sister at a dress fitting, and a rare afternoon lull left the place empty. Other than glimpses of Killian coming and going, she hadn’t seen him since his first visit, much to her relief. Elsa had teased her enough the first time.

 

“Afternoon, Swan.” The bell on the door hadn’t even stopped jangling before he was in front of her counter, leaning his elbows on the granite and peering up at her from beneath dark lashes. “How are you this fine day?”

 

“Busy,” she grumbled, ignoring him in favor of stocking the bottles of toppings. None of them were empty, but she needed something to do with herself to keep her hands busy and avoid strangling him.

 

“That’s a shame. I was hoping for another of your fine recommendations. I so enjoyed our chat last week.” She merely lifted her head, eyebrows raised. He shrugged in response, folding his hands together and painting the picture of innocence across his features. “I rather enjoyed such a delicious treat. Have you any other suggestions? A man likes variety.” He grinned, eyes dancing.

 

Emma smiled sweetly in response. “If I recall, _Elsa_ was the one doing the recommending last time you were here.”

 

“Ah, but she did say it was _your_ favorite, love.”

 

Something about the way he said _love_ sent a shiver down her spine, but Emma didn’t have time for his flirtations or where they might lead. He wasn’t someone she could walk out on in the middle of the night and never see again – he owned the business across the street from hers. “So another double scoop of Rocky Road? We also sell pints of the stuff. Should last you awhile.”

 

“Trying to get rid of me, Swan?”

 

She huffed, folding her arms over her chest and forgetting her task. “Don’t you have your own customers?”

 

He shrugged, the action pulling today’s snug T-shirt tight across his shoulders. Emma kept her eyes on his face, refusing to allow them to wander over his toned chest and trim waist. She absolutely was _not_ wondering what sort of tattoos might be hiding beneath his clothes to accompany the ones decorating his arms.

 

“My next appointment isn’t for an hour. And a man’s got to eat.”

 

“Ice cream for lunch? Are you twelve?”

 

Mischief danced in his eyes. “On occasion.” Behind him, the bell jangled against the door, and Emma breathed out a sigh of relief. Paying customers meant he would have to make a decision or leave.

 

He almost looked disappointed, but his teasing smile was back so quickly she was sure she imagined it. “Two pints of Rocky Road, then, darling.”

 

 _Good_ , she thought as she grabbed the containers and an ice cream scoop, putting her frustration into attacking the ice cream. _Two pints should definitely last him awhile_ , she told herself, already knowing he hadn’t really come back for the ice cream.

 

-x-

 

Sure enough, the following Thursday, he was back again.

 

“Please don’t tell me you went through two pints of ice cream in a week,” she said in greeting, rolling her eyes as he approached with a grin. To her dismay, there was no bite in the words.

 

“What can I say, love? I was helpless against it taunting me from the freezer, just beckoning to be devoured.” The way his eyes lingered on her mouth sent a shiver down her spine, and when he glanced up, there was heat in his gaze. There was no way he was just talking about the damned ice cream.

 

“So what do you want, another two Rocky Road?” She was already reaching for a container, ignoring his bright blue eyes and the invitation in them – no matter how tempting it was to think about what sort of _devouring_ he might be capable of.

 

“Have dinner with me.”

 

“Seriously?” She turned back to him, the empty pint in her hand. Something that looked a whole lot like insecurity flashed across his face, but then the confident grin was back. If she wasn’t so determined not to get involved with him, it might have been endearing.

 

“Aye. Perhaps tomorrow night? I’ve a lovely sailboat, and the weather is supposed to be quite nice. We could even have Rocky Road, if you like.” He rocked back on his heels, his hands shoved in his back pockets. Emma watched the motion, her gaze roaming over the tattoos she never let herself examine with any amount of interest. It didn’t surprise her he had a boat, not with the anchor and compass-rose, and what looked to be bits of rope delicately weaving up his arm. No, that man belonged on the sea. If she ran her tongue over his skin, she’d probably be able to taste the brine on him.

 

“Or I could show you the rest of my tattoos,” he offered with a teasing smirk, stepping closer to the counter and lowering his voice. “I think you might like the one right above…”

 

“You can’t be serious,” she cut in, ignoring the heat that rose in her cheeks at his implication – and the fact that he’d caught her staring. “Do you want ice cream or not?”

 

He hesitated, that odd measure of insecurity lingering in his eyes once more. The tips of his ears turned pink, but he smiled at her with his usual swagger. “Sure, Swan. Two pints of whatever you fancy.”

 

She packed up two containers of sea-salt caramel and didn’t let herself think about why.

 

-x-

 

“Shouldn’t you be putting tattoos of butterflies on college girls or something?” Emma asked, hot and annoyed when he turned up the following week. The air-conditioning had broken, and though Elsa was in the back on the phone with the repairman, it would probably be another two days before it got fixed. Even with the door held open to the breeze off the harbor, it was already unbearably hot before noon. “You’ve got a steady parade of them.”

 

His obnoxiously attractive grin lit up his whole face. “Jealous, darling?”

 

Emma hated him in that moment, all cool confidence while she stood there with her hair sticking to the back of her neck. “I’m not in the mood, Jones. In case you haven’t noticed, the air is out. Order something or go back to your own place.”

 

“It’s delightfully cool out on the water in the evening. The offer for a sail still stands.” And this time, it was a much more genuine offer, not filled with the brashness of the first. This time, he was actually asking, not toying with her, and for a moment, she was tempted to say yes.

 

But he still worked across the street, and it wasn’t like she could quit her job when she owned the place and needed it to pay her rent. “I’m busy tonight,” she lied, pushing the wisps of hair escaping her messy ponytail out of her face.

 

He nodded, offering a tight smile, and she had the sinking sensation he knew she’d lied. “All right, Swan. Might I get two pints of whatever it was you decided on last week? It was delicious.”

 

She didn’t feel guilty at all as she scooped his ice cream and sent him on his way, his shoulders ever so slightly slumped forward – she _didn’t_.

 

-x-

 

“So, how many Thursdays, exactly, has Killian come in?” Elsa asked, far too innocent as she stood next to Emma, helping to refill toppings as they worked on closing up for the night.

 

“You know he’s here every week,” Emma grumbled, giving the maraschino cherries far more attention than they required.

 

“Does he ask you out every week?”

 

Emma’s jaw tightened, ignoring the question as she continued to fuss over the cherries. Somehow or another, Killian usually managed to turn up when Elsa wasn’t around – almost as if he planned it that way. But today, her friend and business partner had been the one standing at the counter when he’d walked in.

 

“He talked to me about the weather for almost ten minutes, Emma. He was stalling until you showed up. It was kind of cute, actually.”

 

“He just likes to annoy me.”

 

“Uh huh. That’s why he always wants you to pick what flavor he gets. And manages to ask you to dinner, or sailing, or for drinks every single week.” Elsa paused, stopping her work for a moment and staring out the windows at Killian’s shop. “You know, two pints of ice cream every week and that man doesn’t look like he’s gained a pound. He must work out a lot.” Her tone was far too suggestive.

 

Emma rolled her eyes and went back to work, firmly ignoring Elsa.

 

-x-

 

Summer’s long days gave way to fall’s cool nights, and business began to slow as the town emptied out. The summer season that craved ocean views and warm sunsets hung up its hat and made way for the rich reds and golden leaves of fall, and the majority of their business went with it. A welcome respite, even if a part of Emma grew nervous at the drop in income, despite their careful budgeting. Granny now regularly placed large orders to serve their ice cream at her diner, and she planned to continue to do so through winter, but Emma was still anxious.

 

Elsa yawned from across the counter, leaning down to pillow her head against her folded arms. “I swear this has been the longest summer of my life.”

 

“Even longer than that time your mom made you campaign with her?” Emma asked wryly over her shoulder before continuing to wipe down the large mirror above the shelf.

 

A groan emerged from beneath the blonde tangle that had once upon a time been a braid. “Okay, maybe not that long.”

 

Emma laughed, crumpling up the paper towels in her hand and throwing them in the trash. “At least I think we made enough money to stay in business until next summer.”

 

That got her friend’s attention. Elsa gave her a sharp look as she stood up, frowning slightly. “We made more than enough money to stay in business through the winter. Give yourself some credit, Emma. You busted your ass this summer.”

 

“We both did. And your mom sending everyone and their mother in for ice cream didn’t hurt. Or that huge order for her barbeque.”

 

Elsa shrugged, holding her hand out for the paper towels and glass cleaner. “Either way, we did it. I’m looking forward to sleep.”

 

“We still have Anna’s wedding in a few weeks.” Elsa’s sister had decided to serve their ice cream to her guests, but in true Anna fashion, she hadn’t been satisfied by anything less than ten different flavors.

 

“Which we’ve been planning for two months. And since I’ve checked the order about three hundred times myself, I think we’ve got that covered.” Elsa’s smile turned sly, her eyes wandering toward the front of the shop. “What are you going to do with all that spare time? Maybe take a walk across the street?”

 

“And why would I do that?”

 

“Killian is there.”

 

“And?”

 

“And he spent an entire summer coming in here every Thursday to ask you out – despite the fact that you kept turning him down with incredibly flimsy excuses.” Elsa’s eyes narrowed. “And I think you’ve got to have run out of them by now.”

 

“He doesn’t understand the word no. Like a toddler. Or a stalker.”

 

“Emma.”

 

“Oh, c’mon. The man likes ice cream. And annoying me. Because I’m stupid enough to let myself be annoyed.”

 

“The man likes _you_.”

 

Emma’s cheeks heated, her attention narrowing down to the task at hand as she struggled to ignore her friend as she did every time this topic came up. So what if Killian always gave her that devastating grin when he walked through the door? So what if sometimes he brought her a hot chocolate on a cool morning, extra whipped cream and cinnamon perfectly applied? He flirted with Elsa, too. Sometimes.

 

He never asked Elsa to dinner or drinks or his boat, though.

 

-x-

 

She never admitted to anyone how much she’d come to look forward to his Thursday appearances, despite what she’d told Elsa. Whatever crap the week threw at her, she knew on Thursday, Killian and his shit-eating grin would pop up at some point and make her laugh.

 

Until the Thursday he didn’t.

 

It was well into October, and they’d shortened their hours to account for the drop in business, but the shop was still open for the locals. Now that the summer crowds – and lines – had departed, more of the town found time to investigate their newest addition. Elsa had spent summers in Storybrooke since she was a child, her family’s massive seaside cottage – mansion – just on the outskirts of town, and most of the people remembered her. They remembered Emma too – as the troubled foster-kid the sheriff and his wife has adopted when she was fourteen.

 

But by the time they closed, the sun long set, Killian hadn’t set foot inside the ice cream parlor.

 

Elsa, to her credit, didn’t say anything as Emma scowled, her eyes on the lights across the street. His shop was still open, and she’d seen him walk into it this morning. He was there, _right_ there. Why hadn’t he come in for his usual Thursday dose of ice cream and banter?

 

But Elsa _did_ say something as she turned the key in the lock behind them, nodding across the street. “There’s nothing wrong with admitting you like him, Emma.”

 

“I don’t like him,” she answered automatically, ignoring the tightening of her ribs around her lungs.

 

Her friend sighed, fiddling with the end of her braid. “You spent the whole summer turning him down. Maybe he decided it was time to give up.”

 

“He wasn’t serious.”

 

“Oh, Emma.” Elsa shook her head, taking a step closer and laying her hand on Emma’s shoulder. “He was serious. The whole town knows he likes you. I’m surprised your parents haven't asked you about it yet.”

 

“He _doesn’t_.”

 

-x-

 

Killian didn’t come in the following Thursday, either. Emma spent the day alternating between glaring at the clock and glaring at the shop front across the street. When Elsa caught her, she sighed, following her gaze.

 

“Just go over there.”

 

“No.”

 

“Fine, I’ll go. What flavor does he like these days?”

 

“What?”

 

“The man spent a fortune here on ice cream this summer. I think we can afford to give him a free pint,” Elsa said slowly, each word carefully enunciated. It did nothing to hide the smile tugging at the corner of her lips, and Emma hated her a little for it.

 

“Why?” she demanded, far more annoyed than she should have been. Why did Elsa care so much about Killian Jones? Why did it bother her that Elsa cared so much about Killian Jones?

 

“Because I’m worried about him. Granny said he hasn’t been in her place, either.” The hint of a smile dropped, Elsa’s pale brows knitting together. “He’s been going to work, but otherwise not really talking to anyone. I think something is wrong.”

 

Emma hesitated, not wanting to admit to the worry she’d been trying to ignore herself. Snatching the pint out of Elsa’s hand, she pushed up her sleeve and started scooping out the blueberry ice cream Killian had loved so much when she’d first made it in late July. It had been better then, with the fresh berries, but this was the last of what she’d made from her frozen stash. It would be a shame for him to miss out.

 

“I’ll be right back,” she muttered, shoving the pint and a handful of plastic spoons into a paper bag. Ignoring Elsa’s knowing look, she stalked across the street without bothering to grab her coat. It wasn’t far, and she wasn’t staying.

 

The cold gust of wind off the harbor snarled her hair instantly, and she shivered violently as she ripped open the door to the tattoo shop. Killian was nowhere to be found, the shop tidy but seemingly empty.

 

“Hello?” she called out, the silence disconcerting. Where the hell was he? She glanced over her shoulder, the ice cream shop’s lights spilling onto the dark street cheerfully. She should just leave the bag on the counter and go.

 

Except then it might melt, and with how much ice cream he bought from them, he had to have a freezer in the place. And the last of the blueberry ice cream Elsa had frowned at before it became their most popular summer flavor, well, that shouldn’t go to waste either.

 

“Killian?” She took a tentative step, then another toward the darkened back of the shop.

 

The sound of broken glass came crashing out of the murky light, Killian’s vigorous cursing following. That made up her mind quickly enough, and she hurried toward the back room. “Are you all right?” she blurted out as soon as she laid eyes on him, already kneeling down to mop up the broken glass. The smell of alcohol stung her nose, and as she swept her eyes over the mess, she realized it was a broken rum bottle.

 

“You’re going to cut yourself on the glass. Where’s your dustpan?” It came out too harshly, but Emma ignored her irritation with herself and set the ice cream down on the closest flat surface.

 

“No need to fuss, Swan.” He glanced up, revealing bloodshot eyes and dark smudges beneath them. “I’ve got this in hand.” His words slurred together, alcohol and deep, heart-wrenching pain coating every syllable. Turning his attention back to the mess, he swept another pile of it together – and swore again.

 

“Bloody hell that stings!” He dropped the paper towel, a splotch of red clearly visible as he lifted his palm to his face. It was Emma’s turn to swear as blood trickled from the cut, plain against his unusually pale skin.

 

“I told…” She stopped, swallowing the rest of her sentence. Something was desperately wrong already, and saying _I told you so_ while he bled all over the floor wouldn’t help anyone. “Let me see,” she said more gently, carefully stepping around the mess and reaching for the roll of paper towels on his desk.

 

“I’ll sort it out.”

 

“Give. Me. Your. Hand.” She stood above him expectedly, her patience thinning rapidly. His eyes met hers, still a startling shade of blue despite his obvious fatigue, and held for a long, challenging moment before he muttered something unintelligible under his breath and rose shakily to his feet.

 

She inspected his hand silently, relieved the cut wasn’t deep. He winced as she dabbed at the blood, squinting to make sure he hadn’t gotten glass stuck in the gash. “Do you keep bandages here?”

 

“Gauze and tape,” he mumbled, jerking his head back toward the front of the shop.

 

“Where?”

 

“Honestly, Swan, you needn’t…”

 

“ _Where_?”

 

“First drawer down beside the sink.”

 

She left him standing there, struggling to swallow her irritation. Why was she even so upset? He’d been stupid and hurt himself. People were stupid and hurt themselves all the time. It didn’t fill her with an inexplicable combination of burning anger and sharp concern.

 

Pushing her emotions aside, she located the gauze and tape, then made a quick inspection of the shop until she located a broom and dustpan. She found Killian where she’d left him, collapsed into a leather chair, his palm cradled to his chest. His eyes were closed.

 

“You better not be asleep.” He blinked up at her when she spoke, blearily squinting. “Good. Give me your hand,” she demanded once she had his attention.

 

He obeyed this time, watching her with an unreadable expression as she bandaged his hand and swept up the glass. It was only once she’d dumped the last of it into the trash that she remembered the ice cream, probably already beginning to melt in the warm shop. “Where’s your freezer?”

 

“Freezer?”

 

“Yes, freezer. You have to have one with the amount of ice cream you buy, since you obviously don’t live here.”

 

“Aye, but why do you need it?”

 

He sounded so genuinely baffled her cheeks grew hot, and she kept her eyes on the wall behind him. “I brought you ice cream,” she said awkwardly, snatching the bag off the cabinet it had been sitting on.

 

“Why?”

 

“It’s Thursday,” she said, as if that explained what she was doing there. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, suddenly nervous. At a loss for what else to do with her hands, she handed him the bag. “You didn’t come in last week, either.”

 

“Aye.” He didn’t say anything else, the crinkle of paper and the clatter of plastic spoons the only noise in the quiet.

 

“It’s the last of the blueberry. Not as good as the stuff I made in July, because the berries have been frozen since I picked them, but still good. There won’t be anymore until next summer unless I go down to Costco in Portland for more blueberries, but that would be really expensive, and they’re not even from Maine anymore. I don’t actually know where blueberries come from this time of year. Chile, maybe? Or California, or…”

 

“Swan.” Killian arched a brow at her, setting the bag down and saving her from her own stupidity. Why was she talking about blueberries so much? Killian didn’t give a damn about blueberries. And what was she even still doing standing there? He clearly wasn’t in a good mood and probably wanted to be left alone. “Why did you bring me ice cream?” he asked again, his words so quiet she barely heard him.

 

“I told you, it’s Thursday.” Emma’s cheeks grew warmer, and she shifted her weight toward the door. She should really leave, but something about him made her hesitant to go. Why had he been sitting in the dark drinking by himself in his shop? And why did he look like he hadn’t slept in days?

 

“Why did you stop coming in?” she blurted out, shoving her hands in her pockets to keep from doing something stupid, like touching him. Emma wasn’t a touchy person, never had been, but there was something about the slump to his shoulders that made her want to wrap her arms around him.

 

He shrugged, whatever vulnerability she thought she saw wiped clean. “It will be winter soon. I can’t eat that much ice cream all winter, cooped up inside.”

 

“That’s all?” She didn’t know why she asked, but for some reason, she couldn’t let it go. Something was off with him, and after an entire summer of their weekly verbal sparring matches, she thought she knew him enough to recognize he wasn’t himself.

 

“Should I have another purpose?” he asked, grabbing the ice cream bag with his uninjured hand and bending to open a door she hadn’t noticed below the desk. The small fridge/freezer combo didn’t contain much, just a few bottles of water and a tray of ice cubes, but the ice cream fit neatly.

 

“No, I guess not.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot, glancing over her shoulder at the door. “Well, uh, don’t be a stranger.” Silently groaning at herself, she turned to leave, a fresh flush creeping over her face to the roots of her hair.

 

“Emma?” She stopped at the sound of her name, pivoting around in the doorway. He was watching her, but his eyes fell to the floor when she looked at him. “Thank you,” he said softly, scratching behind his ear. When he lifted his head, he kept his focus on the wall behind her.

 

“You’re welcome.” She hesitated another moment, wondering if she should ask what was wrong, wondering if he would invite her to stay – wondering _why_ she even was considering him asking her to stay like it could happen. “Goodnight,” she said eventually when it became clear an invitation wasn’t going to be forthcoming.

 

But she felt his eyes on her the entire walk back to her shop.

 

-x-

 

She didn’t tell Elsa Killian had been drinking, or about the broken glass, or about the haunted expression he’d worn – she didn’t say one word about how his quiet _thank you_ had made her chest ache, something inherently sad lurking in the simple words.

 

Instead, she spent the next week wondering if he would appear or not on Thursday. She made a batch of sea-salt caramel, telling herself it was _not_ because she always thought of him when she made it. She’d give him something else when – _if_ – he came in.

 

“Are you _sure_ you don’t want to talk about last week?” Elsa had been not-so-subtly trying to pry information out of Emma since she’d come back to the shop, flustered and refusing to say anything more than she’d given him the ice cream and he’d said thank you. Now that Thursday was upon them, and there was only an hour left before they closed, her friend’s gentle prodding had turned into full on concern every time she caught Emma glancing at the clock or the building across the street.

 

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Emma huffed, straightening the already neat stack of sugar cones. “I think maybe we should start closing earlier. No one comes in this late anymore, and it’s only going to get colder.”

 

“Emma.”

 

“What do you want me to say? I told you, I went over there, I gave him the ice cream, and he said thank you. That’s it.”

 

“You were gone for almost twenty minutes. It doesn’t take that long to hand over a bag and leave. You’re hiding something.” Elsa frowned, toying with the end of her braid. “Usually I’d just let you be. I know you have your secrets. But whatever happened is bothering you, and I hate to see you in pain.”

 

“I’m not…” She trailed off, swallowing her words. Lying to Elsa really wasn’t her style, and it was impossible to deny that she _was_ bothered by the time she’d spent with Killian. He was always so full of life, ready to tease and joke and shamelessly flirt, but that night, he’d been quietly melancholy. She didn’t know what bothered her more – that he had been upset, that he hadn’t wanted to tell her why he was upset, or that she cared so damn much about it.

 

But she didn’t want to say any of that out loud, so instead she shrugged helplessly at her friend. “I…Killian…it was just…” Out of habit, she glanced across the street, only to find the man in question hurrying across. “Shit.”

 

“What…oh.” Elsa grinned, inching toward the back. “I’ve just got to…paperwork.” She was gone before Emma could protest.

 

“Evening, Swan,” Killian said as he entered, once again scratching behind his ear with his eyes on the wall behind her. He was almost shy, and that alone was enough to unsettle her. Killian Jones was a great many things, but he’d never been _shy_ in her presence before.

 

“Hi,” she said stupidly, wiping her hands on her apron and pasting on her cheerful-ice-cream-shop-owner smile. “Decided it wasn’t too cold for ice cream after all?”

 

“Something like that.” He raked a hand through his hair, the flex of muscle visible beneath the snug long-sleeved shirt he wore. With his arms covered, only one delicate line of ink was visible where his shirt was unbuttoned. Emma had the ridiculous desire to trace that line with her tongue, to tug open the rest of the buttons that ran a third of the way down his shirt and see just what was hiding beneath.

 

“Any preference tonight?” Emma asked, snapping herself out of her thoughts with a hard shake of her head.

“Which flavor says best I’m a bit of an ass and I’m sorry?” A hint of his usual good humor shone in his eyes, tentative and fragile. He laughed quietly, a nervous, anxious sound, and shoved his hand through his hair again. “I fear I owe you an explanation, love.”

 

“You don’t owe me anything.”

 

“Emma…”

 

“No, really, it’s okay. You were…I just showed up, uninvited, and you were, well, whatever you were doing, and…”

 

“I was…trying to forget what day it was,” he finally said, pain flashing through his eyes. “It wasn’t a day I wanted to be aware of.” He smiled, hesitant, and let out his breath in a sigh. “I’ve never spoken of this before. I didn’t expect to find it quite so difficult.”

 

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

 

“Perhaps, but I wish to.” He hesitated, glancing around the empty shop and taking another deep breath. “Last Thursday was the anniversary of my brother’s death. Ten years, and it still smarts like it was yesterday.” There was a catch in his words, and his eyes snapped shut for a long, silent moment. “It had nothing to do with you, love,” he said as he opened his eyes once more, reaching for her hand where it lay on the counter. His skin was warm against hers, the pressure of his fingers light. “I’ve spent ten years drinking myself into oblivion when the anniversary arrives. I hadn’t expected company.”

 

“I’m so sorry.”

 

“You have nothing to apologize for.” He let her go, shoving his hands into the pocket of his jeans. “You didn’t deserve my behavior.”

 

She waved her hand dismissively, swallowing past the sudden rise of emotion. She’d never had siblings – no family at all, for the first fourteen years of her life. It was impossible to imagine what it would have felt like to have that kind of love, only to have it ripped away. Killian didn’t seem that much older than her – he’d lost his brother young. “It’s fine, really. If I had known…” Her voice trailed off, unable to complete her sentence. What _would_ she have done if she had known?

 

“While I regret my behavior, I do not regret you stopping by,” Killian said when it became clear she wasn’t going to speak. Flashing her a wry grin, he added, “The headache is much less terrible in the morning when one overindulges in blueberry ice cream in place of rum.”

 

Emma laughed despite herself, unable to resist his playful teasing. He really was a beautiful man when he smiled, especially the smile he wore now – genuine and open, none of the innuendo-filled smirks she’d met with over the summer in sight. “That’s the last of it until next year. Hope you enjoy it.”

 

“I enjoy your company.” There was a brutal honesty in the words, and Emma sucked in her breath as she met his stare. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something else, something devastating and likely to leave her helpless before him, but his expression shifted and he was grinning his normal grin again. “I also rather enjoy your ice cream and would be much obliged if you would select me another two pints for this week’s overindulgences.”

 

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” But she was already reaching for the stack of empty pint containers, an easy smile on her lips to match his. “Are you feeling more sinfully chocolate or citrus fresh?”

 

“I find I’m rather partial to sin.” His gaze darkened, his tongue running over his bottom lip in a move that appeared to be unconscious, his attention fully on her. Heat blazed down her spine, and Emma forced herself to look away.

 

“Chocolate it is!” she said a little too cheerfully, all her attention on the ice cream case. She was thankful for the cold air wafting up from it once she opened the glass, a much-needed icy blast against her warm cheeks.

 

“Aye, chocolate,” he repeated, distracted and far away.

 

Emma didn’t bother to stop herself from staring as he left, the bag of ice cream neatly tucked into the crook of his arm. His jeans hugged his thighs and ass almost too perfectly, and she was just starting to daydream about what might be beneath all that denim when Elsa stepped out of the backroom.

 

“Just ask him out,” her friend said, following her gaze across the street. “He’s not going to say no. You obviously want him.”

 

“Wanting isn’t the problem,” Emma said softly, a pang of longing so intense ripping through her she wrapped her arms around herself. “It’s what happens when the wanting runs out.”

 

Beside her, Elsa sighed heavily. She dropped a hand to Emma’s shoulder, squeezing before she walked away. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re wrong,” she said quietly from the doorway to the backroom. “I don’t think that man will ever stop wanting you.”

 

“I do,” Emma whispered, tearing her eyes away from the empty road. She ignored Elsa’s noise of protest, turning her attention to wiping down the already-clean counter. It didn’t matter what her friend thought, or what Emma wanted – she knew how the story ended, and it wasn’t worth it.

 

It _wasn’t_.

 

-x-

 

Except maybe it was.

 

Emma couldn’t get Killian out of her thoughts. Much to her chagrin – and Elsa’s amusement – any time she found herself spacing out during a slow moment in the day, her eyes inevitably found themselves trained on the shop across the way. And with it being late October in Maine, there were a lot of slow moments.

 

“I don’t know why you keep torturing yourself.” Elsa folded her arms across her chest, raising a pointed brow. “Just go over there and tell him you changed your mind about seeing his boat.”

 

“You know it’s almost November, right? I’m sure the boat is put away for the winter.” Emma rolled her eyes, ignoring the pang of longing. Would it really have been too much of a distraction if she had taken him up on his offer in August? She walked by the harbor every day, and every day she stared at it with longing, breathing deeply with the taste of salt on her tongue. Except by this time of the year, it was more a sideways glance and a shiver, the water already turning icy.

 

“Then go over there and tell him you want to jump him. It’s more honest.”

 

“Elsa!”

 

“It’s true.”

 

“It’s _not_.”

 

“Then why are you bright red?”

 

“Because…because!”

 

“Yeah, okay.” Elsa sighed, reaching around Emma to where her car keys hung on the hook. Elsa shoved them into her hand, giving her a not-so-gentle push toward the door. “It’s grocery day. I think you need to get out of here more than I do. There’s a list in the office for Costco.”

 

Emma glared at her friend, but she went.

 

It was a long drive, and since the stereo in her Bug had gone some time ago, she had little but her thoughts to keep her company. _I really should let David fix that_ , she thought with a sigh, glancing forlornly at the silent radio. He’d offered, several times, but she felt guilty asking him for anything. David and Mary Margaret had already done so much for her, and while they had been telling her for years they were her parents and wanted to help, sometimes it felt like too much.

 

Despite being back in Storybrooke, she’d barely seen them all summer either. Mary Margaret had popped in for ice cream once in awhile, school out for summer, but David had his hands full with a town full of tourists. Those quick glimpses hadn’t really been enough, but she’d been driven with an almost desperate urge to ensure they made it through the summer with enough to spare for winter.

 

So though she was always happy to scoop her foster parents a sugar cone of vanilla or whip up a chocolate milkshake, with winter waiting in the wings, she knew she needed to make more of an effort to see them. The ice cream shop would keep. Maybe she would invite Killian, since he seemed to be lacking when it came to family. He shared a sense of humor with David, and they’d probably get along.

 

Sitting at a red light, Emma shook her head with a mumbled curse. What the hell was wrong with her? She wasn’t going to invite Killian to dinner with her parents out of the blue. She wasn’t going to have dinner with Killian, period.

 

But somehow, though they hadn’t planned to make any new flavors this month, Emma found herself adding extra cocoa and chocolate to her massive cart. She had the strangest impulse to make a more decadent chocolate ice cream, dark and creamy, with chocolate chunks and fudge swirl.

 

It had nothing to do with Killian’s _sinful_ chocolate preference and the desire to see the look on his face when she packed up two pints of the stuff. Nothing at all.


	2. Chapter 2

Elsa eyed her strangely as she deposited the newest ice cream flavor into the case, Emma’s hands still sticky with chocolate. “When did you decide to do that? I didn’t think we were doing anything new right now.”

 

Emma shrugged, reaching for a slip of paper and a marker to write the flavor’s name down and tuck into the display. “At Costco. Chocolate was on sale,” she lied, keeping her eyes firmly trained on her task. Her handwriting was terrible, so it took an extra amount of focus to keep the letters legible as she wrote out _Chocolate Sin_.

 

“You don’t even like chocolate that much.”

 

“Aren’t you always telling me everyone loves chocolate and the fact that I don’t go nuts for it makes me incredibly strange?” Emma capped her marker, bending back into the case to carefully position the label before gesturing to the chalk menu board behind them. “Can you do the board? Your handwriting is better.”

 

“Sure, if you tell me what you’re calling this one.”

 

“Chocolate Sin,” Emma answered promptly, silently cursing the flush creeping into her cheeks. Elsa made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort, but with Emma’s back turned, she heard the scrape of chalk soon enough.

 

“You made it for Killian, didn’t you?”

 

Emma groaned, leaning back against the counter. She had no choice but to get this over with – Elsa was too stubborn to let something go once she’d latched on. “I told you, it was…”

 

“On sale. Right, except I’m the one who does the expenses, and it wasn’t. You usually lie better.” Elsa raised a brow, wiping her chalk-covered hands on her jeans. “C’mon, Emma, you’re being ridiculous. Just admit when he comes in here tomorrow, you already know you’re going to pack up two pints of it. You’re going to tell him the flavor name and wait for him to flirt with you. How much longer do you plan to torture the man?”

 

“Whose side are you even on?” It was meant to be light, a joke, but even to Emma her words sounded defensive.

 

Elsa sighed, a frown knitting her brows together. “I’m on yours, Emma. I’m always on yours. But I think you’re doing yourself a disservice. You should see how your face lights up when he’s in here.”

 

“I don’t light up. You make me sound like a damn Christmas tree.”

 

“You can be awfully prickly.”

 

“Says the resident ice queen.”

 

Elsa laughed, shaking her head at the old nickname. With her pale skin, light blue eyes and almost white-blonde hair, she certainly looked the part, but it was her tendency to freeze people with her stare – a genetic gift from her mother – that had truly earned her the moniker. “Fine, don’t listen to me.”

 

“Do I ever?” Emma grinned, glancing at the calendar hanging neatly beside the register. “Are we all set for Halloween? I picked up the candy you put on the list.” She moved away from the freezer case, willing Elsa to go along with the change in topic.

 

“Yep. Did you figure out your costume?”

 

“You’re looking at it.” Emma gestured to her jeans while making a face. She didn’t really see the point in dressing up this year.

 

“Emma, please. It’s one night. Haven’t you ever wanted to be someone else for a little while?” Her words carried a hidden weight, and though they’d grown up quite differently, Emma knew Elsa had at times been just as desperate for a different life. They’d both spent considerable time wanting to be someone else, something else, but Emma had forced herself to accept her life by facing the cold reality that this was her hand and she had to play it. Elsa was still a dreamer.

 

“I don’t have time to go down to…”

 

“So you don’t have a costume at all?”

 

“No.”

 

“Perfect!”

 

“Huh?” Emma’s stomach sank as she took in her friend’s gleeful smile, her eyes dancing. That couldn’t mean anything good.

 

“I knew you’d flake out on this, so I ordered you a costume when I got mine.”

 

“Seriously?” Emma’s eyes narrowed, her arms folding across her chest. “What makes you think I’m going to go along with your little plan?”

 

“Because even you, Emma Swan, must have wanted to be a princess at some point growing up. And now you will be.” Elsa grinned, pulling her phone out of her pocket and scrolling quickly before handing it over. “I got myself this one, in blue. And for you, this one,” she said, tapping the screen before tilting it back toward Emma. “In red.”

 

“How the hell am I supposed to scoop ice cream in that?”

 

“You’re not. We’re just going to hand out candy. It’s Halloween, and it’s not like kids can put ice cream in a candy bag.” Elsa’s grin widened, and she snatched back her phone. “Besides, Halloween is a Thursday this year.”

 

“I hate you,” Emma muttered, but even as she said it, her eyes drifted across the street. She couldn’t help but wonder if Killian liked red.

 

Of course, Elsa took care of that for her.

 

She should have known her friend was up to something by Elsa’s almost smug smile when Killian arrived late Thursday afternoon. Despite the cool day, he had his sleeves pushed to his elbows and two of the buttons of his shirt undone. All in black today, his eyes only seemed brighter as he grinned at Emma.

 

“Hello, love,” he said in greeting, walking right up to the display and leaning on the glass. “How are you this fine day?”

 

“It’s windy and cold, and I sell ice cream,” Emma replied with a brow raised at the plate glass windows, endless grey clouds filling the horizon. “No one but you is crazy enough to come in here today.”

 

“It is Thursday, after all.” His smile softened, something much stronger than his usual teasing creeping into his eyes. “I know how worried you get if I miss a Thursday.”

 

“I don’t…”

 

“Next Thursday is Halloween,” Elsa cut in, ignoring Emma’s glare. “We won’t be selling ice cream in the evening, but we’re going to stay and hand out candy. You should come by,” she offered sweetly, sidestepping Emma’s attempt to step on her foot.

 

“Aye, I usually hand out candy from my own shop. Perhaps we could combine our forces?” His eyes slid over to Emma as he spoke, lingering on her mouth before meeting her annoyed stare with his usual good humor. “If that’s all right with you, darling.”

 

“I don’t care what you do.” It was a lie, and from the look he gave her, he knew it, but he only nodded.

 

“All right, shall we say six o’clock?”

 

“Fine,” Emma agreed before Elsa could make it worse, shooting her another glare. “You want your ice cream today or what?”

 

His glance flickered to the board behind her, scanning the flavors, and she knew the moment he saw the newest edition. When his stare settled back on her, his eyes had darkened, and though he smiled, there was something predatory in it. “Chocolate Sin sounds rather tempting.”

 

Emma forgot Elsa was standing next to her, trapped by the desire in his voice. Heat exploded in her veins, her pulse coming alive beneath her skin. His eyes left hers, meandering over her body as though he could see through her thick sweater – as though he _knew_ she suddenly ached in all the wrong places.

 

She jumped when Elsa bumped into her, empty pint containers in hand and her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. Emma grabbed the containers without looking at Killian, certain he could read her thoughts.

 

It was only when she had her back turned to quickly wipe off the sides of the pints before putting them into a bag that she heard Elsa ask Killian with far too much innocence, “Hey, how do you feel about red?”

 

“I rather fancy a woman in red,” he answered without hesitation.

 

-x-

 

“I look ridiculous.” Emma glared at her reflection in the small mirror, scowling at the long skirt and snug bodice. Elsa had helped twist her hair into an elaborate set of braids, a tiara carefully pinned into place. “And what princesses, exactly, are we supposed to be? I don’t remember anyone wearing red.”

 

Elsa shrugged, nudging Emma with her hip and adjusting her own crown in the mirror. “Who says we have to be anyone in particular? Halloween is the one chance every year to put on whatever you want just because you can.”

 

“Does that include leggings and a sweater?” Emma asked hopefully, tugging on her dress. The built-in boning was giving her far more cleavage than seemed entirely appropriate for handing out candy to kids.

 

“Sure, once we get home.” Elsa grinned, her eyes sweeping over Emma in a pleased evaluation. “If you make it home tonight.”

 

“ _If_ I make it home? What the hell?”

 

“Just wait until he sees you.”

 

“Until who sees me?”

 

“Emma, you’re not stupid. Pretending to be doesn’t really work for you.” Elsa laughed at Emma’s furious expression. “Oh, c’mon, after the way you two were making eyes at each other last week? It’s just a matter of time.”

 

“I don’t make eyes,” she protested instantly. Killian gave her all sorts of looks when he was in the shop, but the only look she ever gave back was one of annoyance.

 

Elsa sighed. “You’re the most stubborn person I know.” The bell clanged against the glass door, and Elsa gave Emma a slight push away from the mirror. “That’s probably him now. It’s six.”

 

Swallowing hard against the butterflies creeping up from her stomach, Emma followed Elsa back into the shop. The lights were low, but they’d spent the afternoon carving pumpkins, and each one was lit with a candle, casting shadows in the early evening light.

 

And standing in the middle of it all was Killian Jones.

 

She hadn’t expected him to dress up, for some reason, despite it being Halloween and her own costume. But there he was, clad in black leather pants and a snug brocade vest, the shirt open beneath to expose far more of his chest than she’d seen before. Her eyes devoured his bared skin, tracing the lines of the tattoos that were still too hidden to discern, before making her way to his face. He’d left his jaw extra scruffy, and dark kohl lined his eyes, setting off the icy blue color. The whole thing was topped off with a heavy, floor-length leather coat with broad lapels and shiny brass buttons.

 

She waited for him to tease her, to remark on her silent appraisal, but instead she watched as his throat bobbed with a hard swallow. “You…you look…”

 

“I know,” she mumbled, finally forcing herself to look away. She looked ridiculous. She didn’t need to hear him say it – even if a tiny voice in the back of her head protested he was far too dumbstruck to have been implying he found her outfit amusing.

 

“Idiots,” Elsa muttered behind her, so quietly she knew Killian wouldn’t have heard.

 

Emma ignored her, carefully picking her way across the shop with one hand on her full skirts, half-afraid she was going to catch the place on fire by knocking into one of the candles. Taking a deep breath before turning back to him, she picked up one of the bowls of candy and thrust it into Killian’s hands. “Here. What are you supposed to be?”

 

“Isn’t it obvious?” He waggled his fingers at her, one hand still clutching the bowl of candy. Heavy silver rings covered his hands, the stones catching in the light as he gestured to the sword at his hip. “A pirate, m’lady.” The sparkle of amusement in his eyes made her want to bash him over the head with his sword…or maybe use it to cut away his clothes. “Might you be able to tell me where I can find hidden treasure?” His eyes lingered on the low cut of her neckline, and Emma rolled her eyes.

 

“You just don’t give up, do you?”

 

“Not very pirate-like.”

 

Emma huffed, turning away before the urge to smile got the better of her. He was _not_ charming, and he was _not_ more attractive than ever in his costume.

 

But as the night went on, it became harder and harder to lie to herself. The scent of leather and Killian’s soap constantly assaulted her, his easy smile and genuine interest in all the kids that turned up at their door combining with deadly effect. Even as the hours grew and his eyeliner smudged, and he abandoned his heavy coat, he only became more attractive.

 

The feeling seemed to be mutual.

 

Killian’s gaze rested heavily on her most of the night, and while at first he would look away when she caught him, by the third or fourth time, he didn’t bother. There were casual shrugs and teasing grins, but by the time they’d given out the last of the candy, a challenge rested in his gaze.

 

He set the empty bowl down on the counter as he approached, the usual swagger in his step. “Thank you for the invitation, Swan. It was a lovely evening.”

 

“I didn’t invite you. Elsa did.”

 

He glanced over his shoulder at the other blonde, blowing out candles and picking up stray candy wrappers. “Aye, she did,” he said softly, turning his attention back to Emma. “All the same, it was a pleasure spending these hours in your company.” She gaped at him, dumbfounded as he picked up her hand, bowed over it like he really _was_ a gentleman pirate of old, and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “Goodnight, love.”

 

“Goodnight,” she replied automatically, hating how breathless she sounded, hating how her skin burned where he’d kissed her. She watched, helpless, as he swung his coat back on and slipped out the door and across the street.

 

“Emma, if you don’t go after him, I swear I’m going to,” Elsa threatened, following Emma’s stare. The wind caught the edge of Killian’s coat, swirling it around his legs as he unlocked the door to his own shop.

 

“I…” Her mouth dry and her throat tight, Emma shook her head. “If he wanted to spend more time with me, he would have stayed,” she finally said, tearing her eyes away from him and neatly stacking up the three bowls they’d used. “He left.”

 

“Did it ever occur to you he’s waiting for you to decide what _you_ want?”

 

“I don’t know what I want,” Emma whispered, blinking back sudden tears that came up out of nowhere.

 

But it was a lie. She wanted Killian – almost as much as she wanted to protect herself.

 

-x-

 

The following Wednesday, Emma worked alone. With the slower season, they could afford to swap days, since only one of them really needed to be in the shop, and Wednesday and Thursday had become Elsa’s days, while Emma took Monday and Tuesday. Fridays and Saturdays they took as they came, and with the drop in business, they were closed on Sundays.

 

Which meant that following Halloween, Emma had spent far too much time at home, by herself, with little else to think of but Killian. She’d done her best to distract herself with chores and errands, even a Sunday dinner with her parents she hadn’t managed in months.

 

Where she had blushed hotly when Mary Margaret asked the same question she always asked – had Emma met anyone? Was she dating? And of course David had picked up on the change from her standard, instant _no_. Which wasn’t really a lie – she wasn’t dating.

 

Killian had been interested, once. He’d asked her out over and over, to dinner, for an evening walk along the harbor, onto his boat – and she’d always found a way to decline. But he’d given up, and though he still flirted shamelessly with her, he couldn’t possibly still be holding out hope six months later. Emma wasn’t the sort of woman men waited around for – she wasn’t even the sort of woman men stayed for.

 

But was that entirely true? Was that what Killian had been doing, waiting like Elsa claimed? His shop was still busy despite the change in temperature, and a constant parade of beautiful women entered and exited his doors, but she never saw anyone leaving with him. He was attractive enough he should have had a different woman on his arm every night.

 

When it had been three hours without a customer, Emma decided to close early. Determined not to think about it being Wednesday, with Thursday soon to arrive as it always did, she refused to look across the street as she moved to the door, throwing the lock and flipping the hand-written sign Elsa had so painstakingly created to _Closed_.

 

Cleaning up didn’t take long, and she was about to flip the lights off to head home when she stopped, her gaze finding its way as it always did across the street. They were nearly out of the dark chocolate ice cream, and Killian had left last week without his usual two pints.

 

She grabbed a container and filled it before she could second-guess herself. Lately one of the lobster fisherman had taken to coming by at lunchtime for a milkshake, and if he turned up again tomorrow, there wouldn’t be any left for Killian. Since she maybe was finally prepared to admit to herself she’d whipped up the batch of Chocolate Sin just for him, it wouldn’t do for him to miss out.

 

She didn’t count on finding him bent over a beautiful woman’s exposed hip, her pants pushed half-off. He laughed at something the woman said as he worked, the buzz of the needle in his hand filling the shop.

 

Emma’s hand tightened on the bag she held, and he must have heard the crinkle of paper over the low drone of the needle. His eyes widened as he took her in, and Emma cursed herself for not bothering to look in the mirror. She probably had ice cream smudged on her face, half of her braid falling out. “Sorry, you’re busy,” she mumbled as he stood up, telling his client he’d just be a minute. “I’ll go put this in the freezer.”

 

“Today is Wednesday, is it not?” His brow furrowed, he pulled off his gloves and tossed them into the nearby trash, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “Aye, it _is_ Wednesday. To what do I owe the honor?”

 

“I…well, Leroy keeps ordering that ice cream I made for you, and it’s almost gone, and I wanted…”

 

“So you _did_ make it for me.” His face lit up as he smiled, rocking back on his heels with his arms crossed. “It seems I owe Elsa that money after all.”

 

“You bet on me?” she sputtered, glaring back over her shoulder at _Frozen_ despite knowing Elsa was at home.

 

He shrugged, but the smile didn’t falter. “It was her idea.”

 

“I’m going to kill her.”

 

“Please don’t. You’re far too beautiful to go to jail.”

 

“I hate both of you.” Emma glared at him, shaking the ice cream. “You want this or not?” Her cheeks burned, hating she’d admitted it without intending to. No good could come of Killian knowing she’d thought of him wandering the aisles of Costco.

 

“Aye. I’m nearly finished with my last appointment for today if you don’t mind waiting for a few minutes?”

 

She opened her mouth to say no, that she wasn’t going to wait, that she was _busy_ and she’d only brought him one pint of ice cream, so she would see him tomorrow anyway. But instead, she nodded, taking a step toward the back room. “I’ll just go put this away then.”

 

“Don’t bother.” He snatched the bag out of her hand, peering inside with a grin. “I intend to enjoy this directly. If you’re nice to me I’ll share.”

 

“I’m always nice,” she protested, but he was already moving back toward his client, apologizing once more. Emma pretended not to notice the glare the woman threw her way, settling into the well-worn leather sofa that occupied the space along his front windows.

 

The low table in front of it held several photo albums. In need of a distraction, Emma pulled one onto her lap, wondering what he could possibly have so many photos of.

 

“Wow,” she breathed out, flipping open the first page. The photos were all of tattoos, bright colors and artfully shaded grays alike. Some were playful, others dark and melancholy, but a consistent style ran through all the pieces. It didn’t take her long to figure out they were all Killian’s, and that he’d earned his spot on whatever tv show he’d been on.

 

“Do you have any?”

 

Killian’s question startled her, and she looked up to realize the woman had gone and he was standing in front of her, pint open and spoon in hand. He nodded toward the album at her dumbfounded expression, quirking an eyebrow. “Tattoos, love. Have you got any?”

 

“Oh. No, not yet. I always thought about it, but never settled on anything I liked enough to be permanent.” She closed the album, setting it back down with the others and shifting nervously as he sat down beside her and offered her a spoon.

 

“I did promise to share.” He dipped his spoon back into the ice cream, his tongue darting out to lick the chocolate from the plastic. Emma stared in fascination, watching the curve and flick of his tongue and wondering what he would do with it first if they were to…

 

“Emma?”

 

“Sorry,” she blurted out, suddenly very intent on the ice cream he held. Her fingers brushed his as she gripped the pint, taking her own spoonful. “It’s been a long day.”

 

He hummed his agreement, licking another spoonful of ice cream. He would taste like it if she kissed him, full of sugar and sin. The longer she watched him, the more she wanted to, her skin growing tight and her throat dry.

 

“Do you…are you expecting…are you done for the day?” Emma finally managed to ask, wincing at herself. When he came into the ice cream shop, she had no problem finding things to say – usually vaguely insulting things – but sitting in his place of business, strangely cozy on the old couch, it was a struggle.

 

“I usually close early Wednesdays. That was my last appointment.” He turned to face her, setting the half-eaten ice cream down on the table. “If you’d like to tell me a bit about what you’ve thought of in the past, I’d be happy to sketch something for you.”

 

“I’m positive I can’t afford whatever reality star price tag you charge.” Emma dismissed the idea before it could even begin to take form in her mind, what it might be like to be stretched out on a table with Killian’s hands on her bare skin, marking her.

 

Something that might have been hurt flickered through his eyes, but he only smiled. “Love, it would be my pleasure. On the house.”

 

“I’ll think about it,” she mumbled, wiping her hands on her jeans and glancing around. The idea of having a permanent reminder of Killian etched into her skin was at once thrilling and terrifying. “Well, I just came to give you the ice cream, so, um, I’ll just get out of your hair. I’m sure you have things to do.”

 

“Emma.” Killian’s fingers closed around her wrist, warm and solid as he pulled gently. His eyes betrayed him, filled with fragile hope. She swallowed, all of her nerves coming to life under the soft brush of his callused thumb.

 

“I should go.” Her voice sounded breathless to her own ears, and Killian must have heard it too. His gaze darkened, the deep blue of his gaze filled with promise.

 

“You could stay.”

 

“I….” She sighed, glancing down at his thumb still moving gently across her skin. “I should really…”

 

He shifted slightly closer, his knee brushing hers. “Why did you come here today, Emma?” he asked quietly, his touch firmer.

 

“The ice cream…”

 

“You could have put it in the freezer until tomorrow.”

 

“I didn’t think of that.” She shivered as he stroked over a sensitive patch of skin, her every sense howling to life. “Why do you come in every week? You can’t possibly like ice cream that much.”

 

His eyes searched hers, his voice so quiet it was nearly a whisper. “Do you want me to have another reason?”

 

“No?”

 

He chuckled, leaning closer. She could feel the heat of him, the scent of him wrapped up in the antiseptic that clung to him from his work. His hand slipped into her hair, holding her steady as he bent slowly, giving her time to pull away.

 

She didn’t.

 

The first brush of his lips was tentative, searching, but the moment she responded, all restraint left him. His arms banded around her, holding her tightly against him as his tongue explored her mouth. Emma pressed herself closer, fisting his shirt and holding on for dear life as he nipped at her lips, sucking and kissing until she broke the kiss, gasping for air. “Your ice cream is going to melt,” she managed to say, mentally groaning at herself as she said it. That was what she came up with? Had one kiss from him truly addled her brain that much?

 

He hummed his agreement, one of his hands leaving her hips to push her hair back from her eyes, a smile playing on the edge of his lips. “Let it.”

 

-x-

 

Emma smiled nervously as Killian led her up the walk to his house, a small cottage nearly on top of the harbor. Was she really going to his house, despite the fact that in the morning, she would still own the business across the street from his? He would still be in her life, whether she wanted him to be or not.

 

It had seemed like such a good idea when she’d been beneath him on that couch, her breaths coming in pants and her shirt pushed above her breasts. They’d been there for minutes or hours, she’d lost track, and it had grown dark enough for the wash of headlights to sweep across the interior.

 

“Come home with me,” Killian growled in her ear, his breath hot and his stubble rasping against her cheek. “I want you in my bed.”

 

“Here is…”

 

“Another time.” He hadn’t given her the chance to respond, to protest there wasn’t necessarily going to be _another time_ , but he’d kissed her so fiercely she’d lost the ability to think rationally. He’d released her suddenly with a groan, yanking her shirt down and tugging her to her feet after adjusting a rather uncomfortable looking bulge in his jeans.

 

She hadn’t realized she’d licked her lips in anticipation until her eyes met his, desire darkening his gaze. “Bloody hell, if you keep looking at me like that, love, all of my plans will come to naught.”

 

“Plans?”

 

Another kiss, another low growl as he’d tugged her toward the door. “I’ve thought of this for months, and I won’t have it be on that bloody couch. Not tonight.”

 

But like her, as they’d approached his house, he’d grown quieter, nervous even. With room to breathe between them, their desires simmered – still ready to boil over with the slightest encouragement, but held at arm’s length as the frantic lust faded. The salt air carried the bite of winter’s arrival, the gentle rush of the tide a peaceful accompaniment to their shoes on the gravel.

 

Killian flashed her a smile as he pushed open the door, tossing his keys on a small table as they entered. “Are you hungry? We could order dinner.” He moved behind her, gently easing her jacket down her arms, his lips brushing along the back of her neck. “Or I could make something.”

 

Emma shivered, half from the chill in the air when left in only her thin shirt, half from Killian’s lips on her skin. She didn’t care about dinner. Dinner would mean conversation, and he would probably ask what had changed her mind, and since she didn’t even know the answer, she didn’t want to talk about it.

 

“Or you could kiss me,” she said in reply, running her hand down his chest as he returned to her side. “Maybe show me that tattoo that’s right above…” She let the words die, the memory flashing between them as she dragged her nails down his chest and stopped short of his zipper. “Well, you never did say what it was right ab…”

 

Killian didn’t let her finish her sentence. His mouth was on hers, and then he was lifting her into his arms, stumbling through the hall. A glimpse of the ocean caught her attention for a fraction of a second, but then Killian’s lips closed over the sensitive spot beneath her ear and she forgot her own name.

 

It was only after, when they lay tangled together and Emma traced the lines of his tattoos across his bare skin that she became conscious of something other than her body or Killian’s. An entire wall of his bedroom looked out over the harbor, moonlight filtering over the dark wooden floors and the foot of his bed.

 

His breath caught as her hand dipped lower, tracing the edge of the tattoo that curved below his hip, a constellation she didn’t recognize. “Did it hurt?” Emma asked, her touch lingering as he shifted subtly beneath her, consciously or unconsciously attempting to move her touch elsewhere. “This area is so…sensitive.” She smiled against his chest as she flattened her palm, pressing his hip to the bed as she continued her exploration of the art covering him. An anchor dragged along his ribs, another constellation splayed itself out across his shoulder, curving down along his chest. She dragged her tongue down the smattering of numbers running vertically down his side, coordinates to places and adventures she’d ask him about, when he might have the mental capacity to answer.

 

“Indeed it is.” He caught her wrist, tugging until she relinquished her hold, easily rolling her onto her back when she didn’t bother to resist. “Very sensitive.” Killian’s fingers danced low across her belly, grinning wickedly when she gasped. “Shall I show you?”

 

Emma sighed as he slid down her body, his lips and tongue following. Whatever fantasies she’d allowed herself in the past when it came to Killian Jones were nothing compared to what he was doing to her now, twisting pleasure tighter and tighter at the base of her spine until everything beyond his mouth and fingers ceased to exist.

 

He was gentler the second time, the frantic desire of his first thrusts giving way to a more contented, almost lazy pace as he slid deep, drawing it out. He relinquished control easily enough when Emma nudged him onto his back, rising above him and sinking down as his eyes devoured her.

 

“Beautiful,” he murmured, one hand at her hip, the other roaming over her body. He pushed up as she sank down, and her legs shook before long. Her rhythm grew sloppy as she balanced with her hands on his chest, dark lines of ink spilling out from beneath the pale skin of her splayed fingers, crashing waves and roiling clouds tensing and coiling with every move he made beneath her.

 

Killian’s breath turned to pants, his voice wrecked as he rasped her name. She watched as his tattoos writhed beneath her, watched until his thumb pressed down, and sparks shot through her. His hand moved to grip her hips, holding her tightly as he drove himself up with a groan.

 

She collapsed onto him, gasping and sweating, her hair tangled around them both. His heart hammering beneath her ear, Emma didn’t move right away, enjoying the sweep of his palm along her back as she wondered why the hell she’d fought this for so long.

 

“Sorry, love, but I require a moment to clean up and shut the drapes,” Killian murmured in her ear, nudging her ever so slightly onto her side. “The sun is brutal with them left open.” His breaths were still far from even, and his hands lingered as he moved her, his lips brushing over her skin as though he couldn’t tolerate the thought of letting her go right away.

 

Emma nodded sleepily, but it wasn’t until he came back to bed and folded her back into his arms that she realized she’d never considered leaving.

 

-x-

 

Killian smiled slyly when she appeared in the doorway, already moving toward the blinds that he’d installed not long after their first night together. “Really, love, am I so irresistible that you’d leave your shop in the middle of the day? In July no less?” he teased, giving the blinds a good yank.

 

“Awfully sure of yourself, aren’t you?” Emma shook her head with a smile, tracking him across the room as he closed the blinds and locked the door. It wasn’t as though he had a reason not to be – the long winter months had seen her in there plenty of times in the middle of the day, blinds drawn and clothes off.

 

And despite the low throbbing between her legs at the look in his eyes, Emma hadn’t come into the tattoo shop for _that_. At least not today.

 

“You love me for it,” he replied, and Emma laughed. They were in a good place. Her decision was solid. She loved him. He loved her. She just wanted to see the look on his face when she told him.

 

“Remember how you promised me a tattoo?” she started, draping her arms around his neck and leaning back. The move pressed their hips together, and Killian’s arm tightened around her waist, keeping her there.

 

“I recall.” His hand dropped lower, squeezing the back of her thigh, his fingers stretching inward. “You still haven’t told me what you’d like.”

 

“Something small,” she began, shivering as his hands continued to wander. Maybe she _did_ have time for more than a quick conversation. “Someplace only you can see it.”

 

That got his attention, and Emma wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed he withdrew his touch before he reached his goal. “What were you thinking, love?” he asked in a raspy voice, tugging her closer so her chest was tight against his, their lips only inches apart.

 

“Two stars. The one to the right slightly bigger.” She caught his hand, smiling up at him with mischief as she moved their combined fingers under the waistband of her shorts, stopping in the same spot his tattoo did. “Here.”

 

“Second star to the right?”

 

She nodded, taking in his surprised expression – surprised and touched. “I wanted something to remind me of you, but initials and names are just…”

 

“Agreed.”

 

“You like the idea?”

 

“Take off your shorts and I’ll show you exactly how much I like it.”

 

“I don’t have time right now. Elsa has a line, but I needed to run out to pick up lunch, and I didn’t think it would hurt to stop by, and, oh…” Emma sucked in a breath as Killian’s fingers slid between her legs. He growled his approval at the dampness he found, backing her toward the couch.

 

“Then we’ll be fast,” he promised, using his other hand to unbutton her shorts, shoving them down her legs. He released her only long enough to turn, pushing down his own clothes before sitting and pulling her onto his lap.

 

“I really shouldn’t…” she protested half-heartedly, her knees on either side of his hips. She didn’t know why she bothered saying it. They both knew if she moved an inch he’d be inside her, and she wasn’t going to stop now.

 

Killian’s hands came up to settle on her only after she sank down, his teeth tugging her shirt out of the way and scraping against her skin. It took an embarrassingly short amount of time to hurtle toward the finish line, but he was right there with her.

 

They kissed as they came down from the high, both of their shirts somehow still on but twisted terribly. “Come by after you close tonight,” he murmured against her lips, kissing her one last time. “I’ll be ready for you.”

 

“It might be late,” she warned, reluctantly pulling back.

 

“I know.” He offered her her shorts before standing, pulling his own jeans back into place. “Fitting, isn’t it?”

 

“Hmmm?”

 

Killian nodded toward the calendar Emma had tacked up on his wall, the ice cream shop’s logo on the bottom of the page. “It’s Thursday.”

 

“So it is.” Emma pressed her lips to his before tearing herself away. It wasn’t until they got home, her hip carefully bandaged, that she discovered she wasn’t the only one with a new piece of art.

 

“What’s this?” she asked, lightly running her finger over the edge of the gauze low on Killian’s hip, opposite of the spot she loved to run her tongue over. He hadn’t told her about it, and by the look in his eyes, she suspected he’d wanted her to find it just as she had, eagerly undressing him.

 

“I went to see Ruby this afternoon. Not exactly a spot I wanted to handle myself.” He chuckled, glancing down at his half undone jeans and the obvious signs of his arousal. “Wouldn’t want to slip and injure anything vital.”

 

“What is it?” Emma asked, tracing the outline of the bandage. Her hand dipped lower, and goosebumps broke out along Killian’s skin.

 

He stilled, his fingers in her hair. “Another constellation,” he finally said quietly, his stare intense.

 

There was something else lurking in his eyes, something more than a new set of stars dancing down his hip. “Which one?” He’d been teaching her the night sky since the moment he’d deemed it warm enough to take the boat out, wrapping her in his warmth as he whispered stories in her ear.

 

“Cygnus.”

 

“The swan,” Emma whispered, her chest suddenly tight. Her hands rose, flattening against his chest as she rested her forehead against his shoulder. “You got a swan tattoo?”

 

“Aye.” Killian smiled, the old flicker of insecurity hiding in his voice. “I’ve wanted to do it for some time, but I didn’t wish to push you into anything. Ruby has had the design ready for several months, but when you came in today and asked for the stars…”

 

Emma smiled against his skin, brushing her lips against his shoulder as her arms moved around his back, holding him close. “You’re stuck with me now, then.”

 

“I love you,” he said in reply, not a hint of his usual teasing present. When Emma pulled back to look at him, he ran his thumb over her lips, the same intense expression on his face. “Not because I have a permanent reminder of you on my body, but because you bring light into my life.” He paused, his features finally softening as amusement played at the edge of his mouth. “And ice cream. Lots of ice cream.”

 

“Glad to know you love me for my ability to keep you well stocked in sugar,” she teased, rising onto her toes to claim a kiss.

 

“And why do you love me, darling?” Killian asked when she dropped back to her feet. He grinned, keeping her snug against him with the arm around her waist. “My devilishly handsome visage? Perhaps my rather talented fingers?”

 

Emma smiled, but it was her turn to grow serious. “I love you for so many things, Killian, but most of all for not giving up on me, even when you probably should have.”

 

“You were worth it, love.” He bent to kiss her again, slowly tugging her with him as he backed across the room. “Come to bed. I intend to show you just how worth it you are.” His fingers dropped to her bandage-covered hip, looping his thumbs into her underwear with mischief sparking in his eyes. “Straight on ‘til morning.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So like every other time I’m supposed to be writing something else, this idea popped up and wouldn’t leave me be. It was supposed to be a one shot (I swore to oubliette14 it wouldn’t get over 10,000 words. She knew I was lying. I swore I wasn’t. She was right.) but when it got to be 14,000 words I decided to split it. Part 2 will go up in a few days. Many thanks to both kliomuse and oubliette14 for encouraging me to not stick to what I should have been doing and giving this a once-over prior to posting!


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